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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984981">True Natures</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantVulpus/pseuds/VerdantVulpus'>VerdantVulpus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Aziraphale Falls, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Okay, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, But it’s Hell So it isn’t Final, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Dismemberment, Doesn't Verdant Vulpus Write Funny Smut?, Hurt, I Create But I Also Destroy, I Didn't Subject A Beta To This So..., I Do! This Isn't That Though, Implied/Referenced Torture, Ineffable Plan is Effed Up, M/M, MCD, No Comfort for a While, Psychological Torture, Seven Deadly Sins, Seven Heavenly Virtues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Violence, blame, literal hell, they're in hell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:27:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,557</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantVulpus/pseuds/VerdantVulpus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale and Crowley thwarted Armageddon and saved the world. Now all that was left was to save themselves. Agnes Nutter’s last serving prophecy seemed to hold the answer, and so the desperate angel and demon put their faith in a long-dead witch.</p><p>It was as good a plan as any. It should have worked. It should have. </p><p>It didn’t.</p><p>An AU where the trial didn’t go to plan and Aziraphale Falls.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things don’t go as planned for Crowley at Aziraphale’s trial, but no one suffers for it more than the poor angel. Crowley seems to come through remarkably unscathed considering how badly he’s pissed off the powers that be in Hell. But he IS in Hell now, and so is Aziraphale, and Hell is playing a long game.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello. Did you read the tags? This might get a smiiiiiidge upsetting...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t the Heaven Crowley remembered, but then again, he barely remembered Heaven. The stark white hall was bright, and quiet, and there was definitely no warm fuzzy feelings of love and peace. Of course, there wasn’t supposed to be. He had been brought here against his will, wearing Aziraphale’s face (well, Aziraphale’s everything. How could the angel stand being this overdressed at all times?) and he was tied to a chair while archangels menaced and taunted. </p><p> </p><p>And there was the hellfire. One of the bloody disposables brought it up fresh for the execution. Aziraphale had been right. They were going to kill them. They had to choose their faces wisely. Crowley kept himself from smirking, from saying something snarky, from being even remotely <em> himself </em>. He stayed as still as possible, his back aching to slouch and lengthen his legs. He stayed prim and neat. He did his best to exude polite terror while the Hellfire was revealed and stupid minor demon had a laugh at his expense.</p><p> </p><p>At least he did until the disposable asked if he could hit him.  The angels shrugged and allowed it! They were going to let a useless waste of demonic power <em> strike </em> a <em> principality </em>! </p><p>Crowley knew he couldn't risk doing anything about it so he just stared. He stared at the vile demon as it worked up its nerve to punch an angel. Crowley stared at him through wide blue eyes and hated.</p><p> </p><p>The minor demon wilted under the state and fucked off without laying a finger on him. <em> That's right. Bloody tosser. Better run. Better hope I never see you again </em>.</p><p> </p><p>With the demon gone, Crowley turned his unblinking stare on the swirling hellfire and bit back his anger. This is how they meant to do it. Hellfire. Fuck. Crowley had seen an angel hit with Hellfire once over 5,000 years ago when things had been quite a bit less civilized. The bloke's shrieks had been etched in his memory. Just a lick of Hellfire could permanently maim an angel but they had a whole column of the stuff! It would kill Aziraphale and it would be agonizing for him while he died. <em>How could they?</em> How<em> dare </em>they do this to Aziraphale? </p><p> </p><p>He was untied, ordered to stand. This was happening. They were really going to do this.</p><p>Crowley stammered something about the greater good. That’s something Aziraphale would say. He tried to be reasonable, grasping at the thinnest hope that the angels would remember <em> they were fucking angels </em>and forgive one of their own. He knew it wouldn’t work. He’d only met one angel who was actually forgiving. He was the best of them, and Heaven wanted him consumed in hellfire.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut your stupid mouth and die already,” Gabriel demanded with a sarcastic smile. Crowley narrowed his eyes just a bit and looked into the fire, hoping the archangel wouldn’t see the hate simmering behind the borrowed blue eyes. Nothing for it then. On with the plan.</p><p> </p><p>He stepped into the fire, making a show of finding the heat soothing. He gave the startled faces a knowing smile, and then, because he couldn’t help himself, he roared a stream of hellfire at them.  They gasped and fell back, instinctively avoiding the hellfire. Time to make his demands. Crowley cleared his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“So it's true,” Gabriel growled, his horrible plastic smile abandoned. Crowley watched him warily. There was no fear in the archangel’s features. Something was wrong. “You’ve switched bodies.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh fuck. Oh fuck no. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The hellfire died away and Crowley realized he was surrounded, a demon alone in Heaven. The archangels were armed with holy weapons, freshly manifested and gleaming. Other angels now appeared around the room, many of them holding crystal phials of what was definitely not going to be <em> regular </em> water. He was fucked. Worse than that, <em> Aziraphale </em> was fucked. Did the angel know yet? <em> Was he already gone? </em></p><p> </p><p>Holy <em> shit </em> Crowley's chest hurt. It was the bookshop fire all over again.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you know?” Crowley whined. If he’d done something to give it away he’d never forgive himself… not that he’d likely have long to cement his new bout of self-loathing.</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Gabriel spat. All the smug condescension was gone. That was an attitude reserved for Aziraphale, apparently. Crowley deserved nothing but contempt and hatred. </p><p> </p><p>“Move,” Uriel ordered, pointing her sword down the hall. Crowley did, holding his head high, resolute to go to his death,<em> his real fucking death, </em> with the dignity that the Aziraphale's body deserved. He wondered why they weren’t just getting on with it. Just one good whack with one of those sharp silvery swords would do him in. Just one of those gleaming phials. This was the room for murdering <em> angels </em> though, Crowley figured. Maybe there was some supply closet somewhere for smiting the damned. </p><p> </p><p>He was led to the escalators and started to sweat into his far too many layers of clothing. They were taking him to Hell? He’d be traded for Aziraphale no doubt. Fucking swell. Bad enough they were going to die, but did Crowley really have to see Hell again first? He could do without it honestly. He'd never been the sort for nostalgia. </p><p> </p><p>They stepped off the escalator and Crowley was roughly forced to pivot and step onto the hidden escalator <em> down </em> . Apparently yes. He <em> did </em> have to see hell again first. Crowley dragged his feet, not with any hope of escaping, just hoping to make time, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. </p><p> </p><p>The angels’ progress wasn’t remotely slowed. They’re faces were set in expressions of grim determination as they swept through the dingy, cluttered corridors of Hell’s administative level. Demons and imps jeered and made threats, spite and hatred spewing forth at the sight of the angels. No wonder they were in such a hurry to finish up and leave.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley was frantically running escape scenarios in his mind, all of them fizzling out just as rapidly because he didn’t know where Aziraphale was. He couldn’t just run without—</p><p> </p><p>He was forced round a tight bend into an observation room and his blood ran cold when he saw Hastur’s face. Or more to the point, when he saw Hastur's <em> smiling </em>face. Happy Hastur was always bad news for Crowley. The duke rubbed his grimy hands together and gestured for Crowley to turn his attention to the corner behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Sure enough, there was the Aziraphale, wearing Crowley’s skin and jeans, looking completely terrified and caged in a ring of hellfire. Beelzebub shifted on their throne, templing their fingers and glaring at everyone. </p><p> </p><p>“Crowley,” the Prince droned.</p><p> </p><p>“They knew!” Aziraphale blurted from his burning cage. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. I thought I had it all right, but they knew somehow.”</p><p> </p><p>There was something poetic about hearing the angel’s panicked words in his own voice. He spoke for both of them. They were the same. The same terror, confusion, loss. Such a mammoth fucking <em> loss </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“S’all right, angel,” Crowley answered lightly. He wanted it to sound light. It sounded dead, the rustling of dried leaves against the pavement. “We had a good go of it, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shaddup,” Hastur growled, shoving Crowley over the line of hellfire so hard he nearly knocked into Aziraphale, nearly tipped the angel into the fire! Crowley grabbed the thin waist of his own corporation (not weird) keeping the angel on his feet. </p><p> </p><p>“Change back,” Beelzebub demanded. “Now!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, all right,” Crowley muttered. It would be more comfortable to meet oblivion with his glasses on. “Might as well, yeah?” He offered the angel his hand. Aziraphale looked at him and Crowley never realized that his face could make that expression. His heart was breaking inside someone else's chest. Aziraphale took his hand, they closed their eyes, they passed back into each other, shivering and sliding home, opening their proper eyes, meeting sorrow with sorrow. </p><p> </p><p>“I should have said it last night,” Aziraphale whispered. “Now there’s no time. Crowley, I lo—” He cut off with a startled cry as Hastur grabbed him by the back of his gabardine jacket and, to Crowley’s infinite horror <em> pulled the angel backwards through the hellfire. </em></p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale screamed. Holy fuck, if Crowley somehow survived this he would never forget that scream. It was agonizing. The brief touch of Hellfire wasn’t enough to consume the angel, he was a principality after all, but it clung to Aziraphale as he was dragged away. It would maim him. He would never recover. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley’s shock deadened his body and he dropped to his knees as Aziraphale’s screams faded as heavy doors slammed closed down the hall. </p><p> </p><p>“Save him,” he uttered, and didn’t realize he had said it until it was out. Fuck it. Fuck everything. Crowley turned toward the Archangel—Fucking—Gabriel and <em> begged </em>. He didn’t even hate himself for it. “Save him! Please! He’s an angel! You can’t let them do this to an angel!”  Crowley staggered through the ring of fire and knelt at Gabriel’s feet. He didn’t care how it looked. He didn’t care about anything else now that he had heard Aziraphale scream. </p><p> </p><p>“Please!” he begged. “Do something!”</p><p> </p><p>Gabriel <em> did </em> something. He kicked Crowley in the ribs hard enough to crack bone. Crowley wheezed and dropped to his side in time for Gabriel to kick him again. Uriel and Sandalphon turned on their heels and left. Gabriel crouched by Crowley, his violet eyes blazing with holy rage. </p><p> </p><p>“I would have seen Aziraphale burn in Heaven,” he seethed. “It would have been brutal and final but at least it would have spared him <em>this</em>”. Gabriel stood and stalked out of the room leaving Crowley alone on the filthy floor in front of the Lord of Flies. The Serpent of Eden heaved painfully on the stone, jagged shards of rib grinding against torn muscle and still, above the pain (it was only <em>pain</em> after all) was the ringing echo of Gabriel's words. <em>'It would have saved him this...'</em> . This. Crowley struggled for breath, trapped in a ribcage that couldn't expand. <em>This. </em>What did '<em>this</em>' mean? Oh, Someone please… where were they taking Aziraphale?!</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley,” Beelzebub droned again. “So good to have you home.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Crowley groaned, wincing as he pulled himself up to standing. A lung punctured on twisted bone, blood splattered across his tongue as he tried to breathe. It hurt but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. “What’s it gonna be then? Holy water, I assume?”</p><p> </p><p>“Crowley,” Beelzebub grinned, and flitted down from their throne. “No one would dare harm you. You’re under my <em> protection </em> now.” Crowley tried to stagger back but the Prince pulled him into a tight, incredibly painful embrace. Flies crawled over his face and his nose filled with the smell of rot. His ribs knitted together painfully as Beelzebub healed him, leaving him gasping. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re not going to be returning to Earth anytime soon but you’re free azz a demon can be in Hell.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley didn’t find this comforting. The shoe was going to drop. Any fucking second. </p><p> </p><p>“Why?” </p><p> </p><p>It was a trap. Of course it was a sodding trap, but Crowley needed it to be over. It was too much. He had been running on fumes for eleven fucking years. The last week was so full of terror and frustration and hope and loss and… other things not worth thinking about in Hell. He was fucked, and tired of fighting it. “Just...get it over with, Beelzebub.”</p><p> </p><p>“No. That would be <em> merciful </em>,” the Prince scoffed. “You need to remember what Hell izz, Crowley. There hazz never been any mercy here.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m supposed to believe I can walk out of here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Out of this room? Yes. But you’re staying in Hell, Crowley,” Beelzebub’s smile curved sharply like a blade across the carotid. “We want you to train the new recruit.”</p><p> </p><p>There was the other shoe. Crowley instantly understood, realized he’d known since the second kick from the archangel and didn’t want to admit it. He flung himself at Beelzebub with a snarling hiss of rage, but Beelzebub was the Prince of Hell. Crowley was a nothing demon. Beelzebub’s tiny fist hit Crowley with the force of a truck sending him crashing across the floor. The room spun and flipped upside down and Crowley didn’t wake up for hours.</p><p> </p><p>He came to slowly, dragged into consciousness by the scents of Hell. His head felt fit to explode and he groaned, trying to bring his arms up to clutch at his throbbing skull. </p><p> </p><p>Something prevented the movement, the rattle of a chain broke through his daze, waking him fully with a jolt of adrenaline. He was on a stone floor, his wrists bound behind him and he was definitely still in Hell. There was precious little light in the room he was being held in, but he knew where he was. This place was stamped into his marrow. </p><p> </p><p>He scrabbled trying to get himself upright but a seated position was as far as the chain would allow. His stomach lurched at the sudden movement, causing another deep throb of pain in his head and he gagged for a moment before managing to get control over himself. His head pounded with his racing heartbeat and he groaned, his thoughts bubbling up limp and malformed. A concession probably. Not good. He was chained to the floor in Hell. He needed to think. It hurt to think.</p><p> </p><p>A door opened behind him, flooding the small room with light. Crowley squinted, frozen in fear, watching the shadow grow on the wall before him, a man, with wings? He could taste Aziraphale on the air, and his heart beat rapidly in his chest. He’d gotten free! He’d come to save him!</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale entered the room, stopping just behind Crowley. He saw the gleaming white pinions of the angel’s wings before his memory started filling in some troubling facts and his hope melted away. Hastur had pulled Aziraphale through the hellfire. He wouldn’t be fighting off anyone for a while. He wasn’t here.</p><p> </p><p>The wing fell to the floor in front of Crowley with a deadened thud. The white feathers matted with blood, especially the tertials, (many of which were missing!) where the wing had been hacked off. Crowley turned his head and this time he retched.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, Your boyfriend did that too,” Hastur’s voice was mocking, cold. The kind of voice that could ooze out of walls. Crowley glared hatefully at the duke as he came around so Crowley could finally see him. He was holding the other wing, (Aziraphale’s wing!) idly running his filthy fingers through the feathers.</p><p> </p><p>“Stupid, soft little bastard, isn’t he?” Hastur continued, summoning a stool to sit on so he could be more comfortable while mocking Crowley’s agony. Crowley grit his teeth, struggling against his chains while the duke spoke. “He’d clearly gotten used to his creature comforts, eh? I mean look at these wings! Never felt anything this soft. He screamed like anything while we took the first one off. Wretched all over himself. Passed out before we even got half way through.” </p><p> </p><p>Hastur snorted as if anyone would have fared any better.</p><p> </p><p>“Course, we waited for him to wake up before continuing. One must take pride in their work, eh? Did you know he screamed for you, Crowley?”</p><p> </p><p>“Wot?” Crowley choked, and instantly regretted taking the bait. Hastur’s black eyes shone with malicious glee. His rotten smile was nauseating. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah. He screamed your name most of all,” Hastur grinned. “Thought you were going to come save him.” He laughed then. Crowley could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Before the last bit of the second wing came free, we made sure he knew you were the reason this was happening to him. 6,000 years and Hell hadn’t tempted a soul nearly as pure as an angel,” Hastur grabbed Crowley chin, squeezing his jaw so hard it nearly cracked. “But Anthony J. Crowley managed to bag us a <em> principality </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>"I fucking didn't!" Crowley spat, lunging for the duke. "He knows I didn't! He knows!" </p><p> </p><p>He knew, didn't he? Aziraphale had to know. He had to know how Crowley felt. Crowley hadn't <em> said </em> it but he'd <em> shown </em> it to the best of his demonic ability.</p><p> </p><p>"He <em> did! </em> " Hastur agreed. "Blubbered on about how <em> kind </em> you are." The duke laughed so hard phlegm dribbled out of his mouth. Crowley winced. He hadn't been kind. Not really. Not kind, not nice, not good. Not to anyone but Aziraphale.</p><p> </p><p>"He told us all about your valiant rescue when he was in the Bastille and about you saving his books in the blitz," Hastur sneered. "He talked about all your little gifts and your grand overture to run off to the stars. How <em> romantic </em>."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, fuck off with your judgement," Crowley snarled. "Where's Aziraphale?"</p><p> </p><p>"No judgement here," Hastur grinned with mock innocence. "After all it gets so cold on Earth. Only natural that a weak-willed serpent would seek warmth and comfort in the soft fluffy wings of the enemy." Once again he dug his dirty fingers into the dismembered wing's snowy feathers. Crowley gnashed his teeth, vision blurring with the tears which threatened to prove his weakness. Hastur saw it and moved in for the kill, black teeth bared.</p><p> </p><p>"He <em>believed</em> in you, Crowley, but everything he offered up as proof of your loyalty we coloured as <em>'a</em> <em>temptation',</em> and in the end he did begin to wonder…"</p><p> </p><p><em> Oh no no no no no… </em> Crowley rocked forward over his knees, the pain in his head was about to split his skull. He gritted his teeth hard enough to crack his back molars wanting to shut out the duke’s mockery with the agony in his head. </p><p> </p><p>“It shouldn’t surprise <em> you </em> though, Crowley,” Hastur hissed in his ear. “After all, <em> you’re </em> the one who taught the angel how to <em> doubt </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“I will end you,” Crowley vowed, the brimstone in his blood transmuting his horror into hate. “I will erase you from every conceivable plane of existence you disgusting muppet-wearing gobshite!”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think you will, little snake,” Hastur smiled, more smug than Crowley had ever seen him. “Nah, I suspect you’ll be too busy.” The duke dropped the hacked and torn wing in front of Crowley, and the Serpent’s gaze fell with it, golden eyes widening at the sickening thud. Such was his distress that he didn’t immediately notice when the chains around his wrists fell away. He absently rubbed the circulation into his bony wrists instead of lunging at the duke and clawing his out his black eyes and tearing out his black heart.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re free to go to him now,” Hastur told him. “Tell him everything we said was a lie. Try and ease him through his Fall.”</p><p> </p><p>Crowley wiped his tears away and forced himself to stand on rubbery legs, shaky as a newborn colt. The horrific pain in his head cleared as he pulled himself together, and he cast a suspicious look at the duke who smirked and rolled out his wrists, elaborately showing off the strings of demonic healing magic he was using to cure Crowley. </p><p> </p><p>Another trap. The shoe would fall.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll find him,” Crowley promised, seethed. “He’s a lot stronger than you lot give him credit for. I <em> will </em> see him through this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Go on then. He won’t be hard to find,” Hastur waved Crowley towards the open door behind him. “After all. We all want to see the look on his face when you come sauntering over to the wreck of him without so much as a scratch on you.”</p><p> </p><p>The blood drained from Crowley’s face as the duke laughed and laughed, really just leaning into the evil cackling with everything he had. Hastur left the cell, keeping the door open for Crowley. Most doors would be open to Crowley now, to preserve the illusion that he wasn’t just as caged as every other doomed soul, to convince Aziraphale that Crowley had orchestrated his torment.</p><p> </p><p>“All Hail the Great Serpent!” Hastur shouted in the hall and the cheer was taken up by demons in the offices around him, out into the fiery pits beyond. A sneering, bellowing cheer that echoed through grates, along old pipes and through the deep cracks in blackened stone, A salute that sounded like a claxon as panic welled up inside him, freezing his feet to the floor of his open cell.</p><p> </p><p>“All Hail the Great Serpent!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Lockdown Update</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Heads up to any readers waiting on an update. Shit is getting hard over here with another Lockdown. I have lost my childcare for the next 4 weeks (possibly longer). I was privileged to have my MIL able to come over frequently to let me get writing done and that isn't going to happen for a while. As such, this fic is going to be left hanging for a while. I DO have the fic fully plotted out and WILL finish it up when I get the time/ spoons for it, so please feel free to subscribe. This isn't me abandoning the story, but I have too many WIPs and not enough time.</p>
<p>Thank you for your understanding.</p>
<p>If you want to be kept somewhat up to date on what I’m doing or my current excuses for not updating, please feel free to follow me on<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/TheaSutton4">my boring Twitter</a>, or  <a href="https://verdantvulpus.tumblr.com/">my boring Tumblr</a></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you want to be kept somewhat up to date on what I’m doing or my current excuses for not updating, please follow me on<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/TheaSutton4"> Twitter</a>, or  <a href="https://verdantvulpus.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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